


The Blind Can See

by Catw00man



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, Community: fma_slashfest, M/M, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catw00man/pseuds/Catw00man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After The Promised Day, getting fixed up by Dr. Marcoh didn’t go quite as Jean expected. However, a surprise visit by an unexpected guest just might help him turn the corner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blind Can See

**Author's Note:**

> I just can’t seem to help myself when it comes to these two. In this one I wanted to play with exactly how The Philosopher’s Stone works as far as healing and Jean and Roy were just too happy to comply. Believe it or not I think this fic works however you tend to see these two.
> 
> This was written for the 2013 round of [fma-slashfest](http://fma-slashfest.livejournal.com/) on livejournal for the prompt: _Roy/Jean (Any): The thing that seems always true, when I'm hung over the sky is blue. A rough night for me makes one hell of a day._

It’s dark.

But not dark enough.

Jean throws his arm over his eyes but it doesn’t help. Somehow a damned shaft of light from somewhere is finding a way in and it’s stabbing through his head like knife. He shifts again, as much as he can, but that only makes the throbbing in his head worse. His lower back aches, more than usual, and he grunts against the fucking world pressing in. All he wants to do is pass out again but the fucking light is still burning through his eyelids and torturing his aching head. He growls out his frustration and curses as he pulls his arm off his eyes. That’s enough to make him wince and he barely cracks his eyes open.

Too fucking much.

Jean squeezes his eyes shut as the pounding in his head intensifies. He did get a glimpse at the offending source of light and he curses low again. It’s coming through the fucking blinds behind the couch he’s lying on. He should be able to reach it, if he sits up, which is the last thing he wants to do. He considers rolling towards the back of the couch but he’s pretty sure it won’t help. He’s awake and as much as he’d like to find his way back to unconsciousness it’s not going to happen until he gets that fucking light out. Even then it’s no guarantee, but at least he can try.

He takes a deep breath then cracks only one eye open this time. Bright ass sunlight stabs through his head and nearly has him backing down again, but he’s no damn pussy. He’s faced down a fucking homunculus, he can deal with a little stupid sunlight. He moves his hands down beside his hips and forces himself to sit up. He uses his hands to scoot himself back slightly on the couch, his legs dead weight as usual, and he reaches over the back of the couch. His fingers graze the offending blind and with a second try he untwists the stupid thing and the room goes dark, or as dark as it can in the middle of the day. It’s just his luck there doesn’t seem to be a damn cloud in the sky.

Jean reaches down to adjust his useless legs then slides back down on the couch. He only got a glimpse but it looked like a beautiful fucking day. Typical. He drinks himself blitzed and the fucking world moves on without him. Why couldn’t today be one of those dreadful rainy days that usually happen in Central this time of year? The sound of rain on the roof would probably be soothing and it’d make the room a hell of a lot darker. But, no. No, it’s got to be bright and sunny and fucking perfect for heading out to the park on the West Side for a run then a nice smoke by the pond, not like that’s happening again in his lifetime. Jean throws his arm over his eyes again and tries to remember if he finished the bottle of bourbon he was hammering last night or not.

Why the fuck is he even here?

Come to Central they said. There’s a doc here with a Stone that can fix you they said. Everything will be alright as soon as you get here. He could barely believe it, but when has Breda ever let him down? Hell, he almost didn’t want to come back even with the promise of walking again because he was just starting to feel good about himself again. He was _useful_ , running the “specialized” and covert division of Havoc’s General Store. He was actually getting into being a gunrunner and was even starting to deal with the fact he’d never get his dream of a woman and family of his own. What woman would want a man who couldn’t “perform?” The damn chair was emasculating in the worst kind of way, but at least he had the adrenalin rush of breaking the law and making a difference. It was starting to be enough….

But now it’s not. 

How can it be? From the time he realized his spine was severed he didn’t bother with silly fantasies that were too fantastic to come true. Even when Mustang and Breda were telling him there might be a chance he didn’t believe them. How could he? Miracles don’t happen for a guy like him. Maybe for the Elric kid or the Colonel, but not him. He was just a pawn and he was ready to get out of the way and live his life until he finally found a way to make a difference. And then they had to call and start making all these promises. Was it so stupid he actually thought he made enough of a difference to karmically move beyond being a damn pawn?

Jean rubs his hand over his forehead because that last thought was too much. When the hell did he start getting so philosophical? He’s starting to fucking sound like Breda and what good is that gonna do him? No one likes a smarty pants law breaker. He just needs to remember his damn place in the world and stop dreaming about stupid things that wo—

Sharp knocking rings out through the room and Jean jumps so hard he nearly falls off the damn couch. He grits his teeth against the pain in his head that’s intensified tenfold and squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Maybe if he stays quiet whoever’s at the door will go away. He’s in no mood to see anyone. All he wants to do now is stay drunk for a few days then figure out how he’s going to get back out East.

The loud knocking comes again and Jean hisses at the ache that feels like it’s splitting his skull open. Fucking bourbon. It always blitzes him out faster than anything but the hangovers are always such a bitch. He needs to find another bottle and soon. He runs a hand over his face then clears his throat and calls out as loud as his hoarse voice will manage, “Go ‘way. We don’t want any!”

Silence fills the room and he lets out a long sigh. Maybe they went away. It’s still the middle of the day. Breda shouldn’t be stopping by and he’s certain Hawkeye is much too busy for the likes of him with Mustang getting his sight back and all. They’ve all probably moved on by now, forgetting all about the poor little broken pawn that’s once again left behi—

The sound of knocking echoes through the room once more and Jean takes a sharp breath to shout them away when a familiar sounding muffled voice calls out through the apartment door. “I don’t have much to offer, Jean. But I did make it all the way over here on my own.” 

There’s a pause and Jean holds his breath. He has to be hearing things. There’s no way _he_ would—

“It’s Mustang.”

Jean’s eyes snap open and suddenly the aching in his head takes a backseat to the stunned surprise washing through him. How did he even know where he lived? Surely Mustang never comes out to this crappy part of town. He wouldn’t have even still had this dump if he weren’t locked in the damn lease. It was up in another month, not that it matters now, and why the _hell_ is _Mustang_ at his door?

“Havoc, I know you’re there. Please, I know I can’t order you—”

“Come in,” he calls out then clears his dry throat. He moves his hands beside his hips again and slowly pushes his tired and dehydrated body into a sitting position. “It’s open,” he adds then coughs dryly. He runs a hand roughly through his hair then glances around and tries to figure out where he left his damn shirt. 

The door knob turns and the door cracks open slowly in a way that doesn’t seem quite right, but Jean’s hardly processing much right now. He still can’t find his shirt so he reaches down to untwist the light blanket from between his legs. He tosses it over himself, pulling it halfway up his bare chest, then looks to see Mustang carefully making his way through the door. There’s a strange look in his eyes and why is he walking with a cane? Was he hurt worse than Breda let on? Why didn’t that doc heal him up when he fixed his eyes and why is he walking like that? He watches Mustang close the door behind him without looking then take a couple shuffling steps forward, the cane held in front of him instead of taking his weight, and it suddenly all clicks in his foggy mind.

“You can’t see!”

Mustang stops short and turns cloudy eyes toward him, probably from the sound of his voice, and regret pours through Jean. It’s almost enough to sober him up and he’ll need to find another bottle soon because this has to be _his_ fault! This isn’t supposed to happen to people like Mustang. He’s the damn HERO! This is all wrong. There must not have been enough of the Stone left or something after they tried it on him. This is all his fault!

“Not very well, no.”

“You shouldn’t be here like—” Jean shakes his head and remembers him saying he made it here on his own. _Why?_ Why would he do that? Why would he put himself at risk? He’s too important for this shit! “Damn it, Colonel, you should’ve had the doc fix you first! This isn’t right. You should’ve forgotten about me and—”

“That’s _enough_ , Lieutenant!”

And for a moment that commanding tone still works. Jean’s mouth snaps shut and he even sits up straighter on the couch for all the good it does. But then reality creeps back in and he remembers Mustang can’t order him around anymore. He’s not in the military. He’s not even a broken pawn anymore. He’s nothing which means there’s no need for him to obey. “I think you’ve forgotten, you can’t order me around anymore more, Colonel. I’m no longer your concern.”

“You’ll always be my concern, Havoc.” The words are short and clipped and Jean must still be drunk because they also sound a little…hurt? He looks over to find Mustang’s dark but still cloudy eyes locked on him and he has to wonder exactly how much he does see because he swears he’s looking straight through him. “I told you before. I was only leaving you behind until you could catch up. Are you telling me now you’re giving up on me, soldier?”

Jean blinks and finds that commanding tone is causing him to sit ramrod straight again. He reaches over to the table beside him without looking and grabs his cigarette pack and lighter. He pulls one out with practiced ease and lights it up, his eyes never looking away from the Colonel’s. He’s not sure what Mustang’s getting at or why he’s here, but Jean almost feels like thanking him for actually still calling him a soldier. But he’s not, and he shouldn’t still be pretending.

“You know that’s not what I am anymore.” Jean takes a deep drag off his smoke and doesn’t miss how Mustang’s forehead creases into a frown. The obvious emotion tears at his heart, but he can’t start lying to himself now. This is what he is and what he’s always going to be. There’s no point in pretending. He shakes his head as he brings the cigarette to his lips again and asks simply, “Why are you here, Colonel?”

Mustang stares at him for another long moment then glances around. He doesn’t seem to see what he’s looking for and he moves toward Jean, using the cane to be sure of his steps. He’s obviously not completely blind, but he doesn’t seem all that sure of his steps either. It’s a disturbing sight to see someone who’s always been so insanely confident in his own skin be so unsure. Mustang makes his way over to the other end of the couch he’s on and reaches back to sit at the end. 

Jean grimaces, puts his smoke between his lips, and uses his hands to scoot himself up a little more to give Mustang space. Pain shoots through his lower back the same way it has since the “procedure” and Jean hisses low. He reaches a hand back to press over the sharp, stabbing pain, not that it does much good. Before the doc tried to fix him he didn’t feel anything. Now the pain can be so intense it’s nearly blinding. It’s part of the reason he drank so much last night so he could finally get some sleep. 

“I guess I just wanted to spend some time with someone who was going through the same thing.” Mustang spins the cane in his hand and Jean’s eyes are instantly drawn to it as it slides through Mustang’s agile fingers. It seems he can remember him doing something similar with a pen before in the office, or maybe that was someone else. His mind is still too damn foggy to remember. Mustang turns his eyes toward him and Jean swallows at the intense look he still can’t look away from. “You sounded like you were hurting when you moved. Are you in pain?”

“I—uh, yeah. My lower back.” Jean reaches down to touch the area again when Mustang’s other words finally sink in. He said they were going through the same thing. Did he mean that the Stone didn’t work, or something else? Is he hurting too? He stares over at Mustang again and tilts his head. Are his eyes slightly squinted? Jean reaches up for the butt between his lips that’s burned down and crushes it out in the ashtray on the table behind him. “What about you? Are you hurting?”

Mustang doesn’t react for a moment and Jean wonders if he shouldn’t have asked. The Colonel has never been one to show his weaknesses if he could help it. He couldn’t even stand to have rain mentioned in his presence. Should he not have said anything? But then a hint of a smile curls his lips and he reaches into the pocket of the long black coat he’s wearing. He pulls out a pair of dark sunglasses and holds them up for Jean to see. “To be honest I’ve hardly taken these off the last couple days. I just thought….” He chuckles and slips them on. “I guess I thought you’d find me strange if I showed up wearing them inside.”

Jean shakes his head and reaches behind him for another cigarette. Somehow they’ve always had a calming effect on him and he sure as hell needs that now. “I don’t care.” Jean shrugs then motions toward his motionless legs underneath the blanket. He wasn’t even thinking about it but he was trying to hide his own weakness as well. “It’s not like I can hide either.” He lights his cigarette then tilts his head back to blow out the smoke. “Pretty sad pair, huh?” Jean snorts softly then shakes his head. “Gotta say, it’s little ironic that damn thing the Elric kid searched so hard for turns out to be useless.”

“What?” The word is sharp and Jean stops staring at the ceiling and directs his eyes back to Mustang. It’s strange seeing him in sunglasses, but even with them on he can’t tell the Colonel is giving him a disbelieving look. Did he say something wrong? Why is he looking at him like he’s crazy? Isn’t he disillusioned too at still being half blind and in pain? “Havoc, Jean, is that what you think?” Mustang puts his hand on his leg and leans toward him slightly. “Didn’t they tell you—”

“That it was gonna take time?” He snorts again and takes another deep drag of his smoke. “Yeah, sure, but that’s what they’re gonna say. Who wants to say they failed when they supposedly have some super magic rock?” Jean shrugs and shakes his head. “I’m not stupid. I just wished he’d done you first so maybe you’d be fixed and I wouldn’t have this damn pain—”

“You idiot.” Jean blinks at the statement. Is Mustang still trying to argue that he’s not the important one? Why is this man so fucking stubborn? “Do you really think I’d drag you all the way back here after you obviously got settled to torture you? Is that seriously what you think of me?”

What? Jean stares at him dumbly because he couldn’t have just said all he did. How could he have known how comfortable he’d gotten? Sure Mustang knew about the gunrunning, but the way he said it implied so much more understanding. Mustang’s scowl deepens and Jean feels like a damn kid who’s disappointed his dad or something. Does Mustang really think he’s mad at him? Why? He knows he was trying to help. “Chief, it’s not that. I know you meant well. It’s just—”

“The pain is from healing, you idiot. Your spine was severed. Do you really think Marcoh could just wave the Stone around and you’d be good as new?” Jean blinks again and fidgets slightly. That’s kinda exactly what he thought. Is that not right? Mustang seems to read his expression because he lets out an irritated sigh. “Havoc, listen to me. It’s a mind-body thing. Your mind got used to being paralyzed like mine grew accustomed to being blind. It’s having to learn to reinterpret the signals again and it’s a painful adjustme—”

“Are you saying I’m going to—ow!” Jean flinches and it’s only after a good thirty seconds that he realizes exactly where the pain came from, or at least where he thinks it came from. He looks down the couch and sure enough Mustang is digging his nails into his calf. Another disembodied feeling of pain shoots through him again and he tries to scoot even further away from him. “Hey, fuck, knock it off.”

The feeling of pain is disconcerting, but amazing at the same time. Now that he’s looking at his leg and sees Mustang’s hand he can tell the pain is definitely coming from his leg. He grits his teeth and tries to move it but it’s still damn dead weight. But somehow it feels a little different. Is Mustang right? Is he really healing? He shakes his head and grits his teeth. He doesn’t need to be doing this because if he’s wrong he doesn’t think he’ll be able to take it. 

“Do you believe me now?” Mustang pulls his hand away and Jean instantly lunges forward to stop him. He _felt_ the loss of his hand and he doesn’t want it to go. 

His hand wraps around Mustang’s wrist and Mustang freezes, obviously surprised at Jean’s actions. Jean stares into the dark glasses, into his own reflection, and speaks in a softer, lower voice. “Don’t. Please. I felt that and-and….” Jean turns his gaze down and his hand loosens on Mustang’s wrist. He’s being an idiot but still the compulsion is just as strong and he has to tell him or chance losing the amazing connection. “It was nice.”

Mustang stares at him for a breath then nods slowly. He pulls his hand from Jean’s grasp then rests it back on his leg, a little higher this time. It’s strange to know the feeling of weight below his waist is coming from Mustang’s hand but damn it if he can’t help wanting it to continue. Mustang is still staring at him and right now he wishes like hell he could see his eyes to try and guess what he’s thinking but he has no idea if he’d be able to tell or not. Shit, he doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing anymore. He really does need a drink.

“Did you really give up on me?” The words are surprisingly soft coming from Mustang and Jean doesn’t miss the hurt laced in them that he’s doing a crappy job of hiding. He feels Mustang start to pull away but then he stops and keeps his hand firmly on Jean’s leg. It’s still mainly just pressure but Jean swears the longer it’s there the more he feels. “I never stopped trying. Jean, please know, I’m sorry you—”

“Stop.” Jean shakes his head and crushes out his cigarette behind him. Then he leans forward and reaches out to cover Mustang’s hand with his own. The Colonel jumps slightly and Jean tightens his hand over Mustang’s. “You saved my life, Chief. You don’t ever need to apologize for that.” He still can’t see Mustang’s eyes but suddenly he swears he’s looking at his chest and the rough scars over his abdomen. Jean shakes his head and squeezes Mustang’s hand tighter. “And you don’t need to be sorry for that either. Seriously. It hasn’t mattered one bit.” He snorts softly and shrugs. “Don’t need to be pretty when you can’t even perform anyway.”

“What?!” Mustang pulls back sharply and sits up straighter. The dark shades still hide his eyes but Jean’s willing to bet they’re wide as hell now. Shit, did he not know? It’s not like he wanted to tell anyone. Hell, he didn’t even tell Breda. He doesn’t even really know why he mentioned it now. He’d pretty much given up on that aspect of his life and considering what a shitty ladies’ man he was anyway it’s not like it was much of a loss. Mustang shakes his head sharply then leans forward and presses his hand back on Jean’s leg again. “But what about now? I mean, are you, is it…?”

Jean scowls back at him and narrows his eyes. This is exactly why he’s never mentioned it. He didn’t want to _talk_ about it. “How the hell would I know?” Jean lets out an annoyed snort and looks toward the shaded window. “Haven’t exactly been much in the position to test things out, ya know.” Not to mention until a moment ago he had no idea he was actually healing. Could it be possible—

“You should!” Jean’s attention is drawn back to Mustang again and he can only shake his head at the intense look on his face. He almost looks like he wants him to do something right now. Seriously, what is his issue?

“What do you expect me to do, Chief? Whip it out right here?” He expects a disapproving look or maybe a laugh, something in response to his crudeness but surprisingly Mustang just stares at him. The weight on his leg feels a little heavier and as silence extends between them he starts to feel a little more uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have said that. Mustang’s just concerned for him. Hell, Jean still can’t believe he came all the way over here with as difficult as it must’ve been on his own. And now here he is acting like an ass to the one person who might have an idea what he’s going through.

“I suppose you could. It’s not like I’d see much anyway.” 

“Wha?” Jean stares back at Mustang and for the life of him he can’t tell if he’s kidding. But he has to be, right? The stupid sunglasses continue to hide his eyes and Mustang just sits there with a straight look on his face like he didn’t just say something totally insane. It’s not the first time he’s been caught on the wrong side of Mustang’s sense of humor, but usually you can see the amusement in his eyes or a hint of a smile on his lips and right now he’s not getting either. Jean scratches the back of his head and opts for saying nothing.

“I’m sorry Jean, I shouldn’t have said that.” Mustang reaches up to adjust his sunglasses and Jean lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Of course, he was just teasing. Jean shakes his head to say it’s okay when Mustang speaks again. “I’m well aware that’s not your kind of thing.”

He starts to agree with him, to say it’s fine when what he says actually starts to sink in. Jean frowns and stares at him a little harder. He said it wasn’t _his_ kind of thing. Does that meant it’s _Mustang’s_ kind of thing? Jean rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat but he’s not sure what to say. Surely he’s still teasing, right? So why is he getting the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he might have been a little serious.

Mustang draws his attention again when he pulls his hand away and sits up a little straighter. Jean instantly misses his touch but this time he feels like it would be too weird to say something. Mustang almost looks like he’s ready to leave and he doesn’t want that to happen. Jean’s head has finally cleared a little bit and he’s really not in the mood to be alone. But how can he keep him here? He shouldn’t even be here at all. 

“Is it yours?” Jean instantly curses under his breath because that is most definitely _not_ the question he meant to ask. He wanted to ask how his eyes were doing, how much he could see, or maybe what else is going on in Central after the world nearly ended. But, no. Instead he has to open his mouth and make things even weirder between them. Apparently his inept way with words isn’t only confined to women. “Sorry, Chief, I mean—I didn’t mean to—”

“Do you really want to know?” 

Jean blinks and once again he has no idea if what he’s saying is real or just a game. Over the years he’s seen Mustang play games like this with people and he never wanted to be one of them. He’s very good at twisting things and getting someone to say something they never intended. Is he doing that now? Jean stares back at his reflection in the dark glass and shakes his head sharply and snaps, “You think you can take those damn things off?”

Mustang pulls back slightly, obviously surprised at the edge to his words. Jean instantly wants to take it back until Mustang reaches up and slowly pulls the glasses down. He squints his eyes in obvious discomfort and Jean instantly feels like an ass. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Why the hell didn’t he keep his mouth shut? “No, wait, I’m sorry. You don’t have to.”

“It’s alright, Havoc.” He gives Jean a smile that actually feels genuine as he puts the glasses in his coat pocket. Then he pulls off the long, dark coat and throws it over the arm of the couch before turning toward him again. At least he doesn’t still look like he’s about to leave. “It’s not very bright in here. My eyes will adjust.”

“Yeah, but still. You didn’t have to.” Mustang shrugs off his words and Jean can’t help but go back to the question Mustang asked him before. He was probably joking. Why wouldn’t he be? Mustang’s always been a ladies’ man, right? How many girls has he stolen from him over the years? Jean runs his hand over his face as he remembers when he was getting the munitions set up for the Promised Day. Rebecca mentioned something about Mustang and his women, didn’t she? Something about how things aren’t always what they seem? The Chief did have all their code names be feminine. Was it all just some covert cloak and dagger misdirect? Jean looks over at Mustang again and he can’t help himself. “Yeah, yeah I think I would like to know.”

Mustang’s eyes widen slightly and he smiles and chuckles. He doesn’t seem offended so maybe it was a genuine offer for information. Jean’s never been the best with words but he is good at reading people. Mustang isn’t annoyed or angry. If anything he just seems relaxed which is weird in itself. He turns his cloudy eyes toward Jean again and grins. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t be offended if you wanted to try.”

“Huh.” The sound slips out before he can stop it but Mustang still doesn’t seem to mind. And that’s when Jean starts to actually think about it. It’s weird but not completely unheard of, especially in the military. He first heard the rumors in the Academy about circle jerks, or a helping hand or even just an interested pair of eyes. It always sounded nuts to him, but he was also never in a serious war zone. It’s easy to see how that could make things different and Mustang did serve in Ishval. Maybe he was one of those interested pair of eyes some guys enjoy. Jean’s never really been one for being watched, but the fact that _The Colonel_ would care enough about him to offer…it almost makes him feel like he should at least try. What could it hurt, right? “Umm, ok, maybe I’ll try.”

“Havoc, you don’t have to.” Mustang’s eyebrows raise with surprise this time and Jean nearly changes his mind. But the more he’s thought about it, the more he _does_ want to know. It’s insane, but he needs to try.

“No, I mean….” Jean shakes his head then huffs out an irritated breath. “I wanna try, no, I wanna know.” Mustang nods slowly and he can hardly believe he’s doing this. “I need to know,” he murmurs softer and Mustang nods again as he scoots slightly away so he’s at the very end of the couch. At least he’s going to give him space for this. Is that how it usually goes? Jean shakes his head because it doesn’t matter then turns his gaze downward to his lap. One look and he nearly changes his mind.

To say he’s a little intimidated would be a serious understatement. This kind of thing was _never_ an issue for him and when he first realized he couldn’t feel his legs he didn’t think beyond that, until they came to show him how to use a catheter and he didn’t feel a damn thing. But even then he didn’t want to believe it. He assumed he’d heal. But after he got home and he actually tried…needless to say he decided to never go there again. And now here he is considering it just because he can feel a little damn pressure on his legs. Has he lost his mind?

“Jean, you don’t—”

Jean doesn’t even look at him. He just raises a hand to stop the words and continues looking down at his traitorous lower body. He doesn’t want to do this, especially with an audience. But he has to. He has to know and if things go the way he thinks they will at least this way he’ll have someone around to drown his sorrow with. Jean takes a deep breath then reaches down and unties the drawstring to his pants. He starts to push them down but hesitates. If he still can’t feel anything there’s not much point. Instead he slides his hand between his legs, closes his eyes and presses hard against his crotch.

He doesn’t expect anything. Hell, the only way he knows he needs to go to the bathroom is by time or getting a headache. Though, last night it did seem like his back hurt more before he went. Could it actually be connected? Jean grits his teeth and presses harder with the heel of his hand and…is he feeling something? He frowns because it’s hard to tell using his own hand but he’ll be damned if he asks Mustang to do this. He bites his lip when he thinks he feels a little _something_. Maybe there is something going on here. 

Jean lets out the breath he was holding then slides his hand up to his waistband. This still feels fruitless but maybe, just maybe it won’t be. He pushes the front of his soft pants down and grimaces as he opens his eyes. The touch obviously hasn’t had an effect on him yet and he nearly puts an end to this masochistic experiment, but he can’t. Not yet. He reaches down to take his pathetically soft cock in his hand and closes his eyes. Maybe if he just starts imagining one of those pretty girls he used to chase after something will happen. Central always did have the prettiest women. Jean wets his lips and thinks back to what feels like another lifetime as he strokes his hand over his so far unresponsive dick.

There really are a lot of beautiful women in Central and it’s one of the first things he noticed when he got here. They all seemed to be better dressed and made up so much more than the women out East. They’d smell like the most expensive spices and flowers he’d ever smelled and one particular scent comes to mind. He focuses on it, on the curvy dark haired woman it belonged to and the musical sound of her voice. Something shifts inside him and he follows the fantasy, remembering the dark beauty, the full, round breasts, and the violet, murderous eyes—

“Shit.” Havoc’s eyes snap open when Lust’s image fills his mind and he shudders in revulsion at the memory. Why? Why the _fuck_ did his mind go there? And why the _hell_ was it not the first time? Of all the fucking women in the world why the fuck does that psycho bitch with freaky murderous fingers always come up in his head. Yes, she had the most perfect body he’s ever seen but just the thought of her and what she did dries up any and all desire he could ever find. One glance down to the soft member in his hand and he knows it’s useless. Even if he could perform it’s obvious his mind won’t allow it. He shakes his head sharply and starts to tug his pants up when a strong hand on his wrist reminds him he’s not alone. “Wha?”

He jerks his head up to find Mustang suddenly much closer than he remembered. He’s reached forward to grab his arm and Jean is instantly captured at the intense look on his face. He wants to pull away, to tell Mustang to back off but suddenly his mouth has gone completely dry and the words won’t come. What’s he doing? Why is he looking at him with an expression that’s more than just pity?

“It was _her_ , wasn’t it?” Jean finds himself nodding slowly and he has no idea how Mustang could know. Did he mention her name without realizing it? Or could the man giving him a grim look of understanding still be haunted by the same beautiful face? “I’ve had the same nightmare myself,” he says softly then lightly squeezes Jean’s wrist. He still hasn’t pulled back and Jean’s breath catches as his lips part, obviously to say something else. Mustang hesitates then finally speaks softly. “I know it’s not your ideal situation, but if you still want to know…I’ll help you.”

Jean’s eyes widen impossibly wide because surely he can’t mean what he’s saying. Would Mustang really go that far? Jean swallows hard and he instantly knows it may be the only way to find out. It’s not like he has anyone else to ask and he knows there’s no way he’s pulling this off himself. As it is he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to look at another woman and not see that bitch’s damn face. Jean takes a breath to answer, but then realizes the words still won’t come so he very slowly nods his head.

Mustang nods back then finally releases Jean’s wrist. He drops his arm beside him then watches as Mustang pulls back and kicks off his shoes. He’s not sure why he’s doing that but he really doesn’t want to ask. It’s much easier to let the Colonel take control. Mustang turns back toward him and moves to his knees. He crawls along the couch, straddling Jean’s legs and before he knows it he’s settling himself over Jean’s thighs. It’s beyond strange to have the Colonel practically in his lap and he starts to tell him to stop until Mustang shifts his full weight onto Jean’s legs and he gasps at the sensation.

“You can feel that?” Jean nods quickly, still not trusting himself to speak. Mustang shifts around a little and he can definitely feel the pressure. It’s not much of a sensation, but it’s there and suddenly the constant pain in his back takes a backseat to everything. Anticipation fills him even though this is still probably gonna be a bust. At least he’s feeling someth—

Jean sucks in a sharp breath when he swears he feels something else. He’s afraid to look down, afraid to take the chance and finds himself staring into Mustang’s dark, smoky gaze. It’s not much, but he’s pretty sure of what Mustang’s doing from the way he’s shifting and moving his right arm, but still he doesn’t want to look and risk losing the slight sensation he’s getting. It’s almost a disconnected feeling, a pressure between his legs that he can’t completely define. But it’s something, as are the slight and familiar tingles he feels deep inside. It’s just a hint of something, but it’s enough to cause his cheeks to heat and force him to look away. The only problem is the turn his mind starts to take.

“Don’t. Jean, look at me.” Jean bites his lip against the dark, feminine images that try to form in his head and he does exactly as Mustang says. It’s too easy to go down that road again and he can already tell the effect it’s having on him. He turns his head back to stare at Mustang and frowns in frustration. There’s definitely something, but it’s not enough and he can’t exactly expect the Colonel to sit here and play with him all day. His scowl deepens and Mustang leans forward, touching his forehead against Jean’s. “Relax. I know it’s difficult, but…trust me. Like you have before. Listen to my voice. Trust me. I’ll take care of you, Havoc.”

He’d like to nod but he can’t with Mustang so close. Instead he murmurs, “okay,” under his breath. He wets his lips and tries to do exactly as Mustang asked but it’s not easy. He does trust him. Hell, he trusts him more than just about anyone and as his hand moves over him the pressure inside builds, but nowhere near enough. He’s responding, he just doesn’t know if it’ll be enough. He feels Mustang’s weight on his legs, the firm pressure around his cock but it’s nowhere near as much as it should be. But still, his pulse is racing, his breath is quickening slightly as his upper body tenses just the way it should. He just can’t stand feeling so disconnected and before he really knows what he’s doing he leans forward and presses his lips to Mustang’s. 

It’s insane and the instant their lips touch he realizes he’s seriously crossing the line. He doesn’t kiss men, and as far as he knows Mustang doesn’t either and he tries to pull back. But then a hand slides lightly behind his neck and lips part under his touch. He hesitates then decides he doesn’t care. He trusts Mustang and if he’s okay with this so is Jean. He gives into to the slight pull on his neck and in the next breath he finally knows what it’s like to kiss a guy…and it’s not bad.

It’s definitely different, that’s for sure, and right now that’s a good thing. He feels the slight scratch of whiskers against his skin and the firm, aggressiveness he’d expect from the Colonel. It’s different and familiar at the same time, but most importantly it’s nothing like any woman he’s ever kissed. It’s good and foreign and he reaches out to wrap his arms around the hard body sitting in his lap. The feel of him is reassuring and real, nothing like the lethal, soft curves that nearly killed him and he deepens the kiss as the tense pressure inside him builds. It’s twisting him up inside, growing minute by minute, but still he can tell it’s not enough. He kisses Mustang harder, trying to vent his frustrations as teeth and tongues clash together but they’re going nowhere. Oh, it’s good, but the longer it continues the more agonizing it becomes. Finally he can’t take it anymore and he breaks the kiss and throws his head back.

“Fuck, Chief. Fuck. Shit, it’s not. I’m not…. Fuck!” Tension and frustration wind their way through his body, knotting him up in places he didn’t even know he could feel. His head aches, something the docs said was displaced pain, and his back is killing him. It might be worth it if he knew this was going somewhere but he knows better than that. Yes, he feels but if it’s just going to be frustration and pain he’d rather feel nothing at all.

“Hang on, Jean. Please, just trust me.” 

Jean reaches out to push Mustang away but then frowns when his hands only connect with air. He shakes his head and sucks in a breath to tell him to just quit it when suddenly…something changes. He blinks to clear his vision and only then does he realize exactly where Mustang’s gone and what that fucking good feeling he’s getting is. It’s heat. And it coming from _the Colonel’s_ damn mouth.

“Aww, fuck, Chief. You don’t—” But the words die on his lips because there’s no way in hell he’s telling him to stop. He looks down in awe as Mustang sucks his surprisingly hard cock deep into his mouth and the sight un-fucking-believable. He not feeling everything he should, but shit, what he does feel is damn good. Mustang’s right hand is tight around the base of his cock and his left lunges between Jean’s legs and the resulting pressure that’s gotta be on his balls feels amazing. It’s been so damn long since he’s felt anything and now, now they’re getting somewhere.

“Aww, yeeeeeah,” Jean moans low and throws his head back again, but this time not only in frustration. This time there’s actual _pleasure_ winding its way up his spine and he groans at the sensation he never thought he’d feel again. It’s good, it’s very fucking good and he doesn’t even care that Mustang’s the one doing it to him. Shit, for all he can tell it’s the best fucking blowjob he’s ever had and suddenly he’s wishing it won’t end. Everything shifts and he fists his hands at his sides as his body trembles then shudders hard with white, hot intensity he swears goes down to his toes. He might not be able to fucking move yet, but for the first time since that bitch impaled him he feels like he has a whole body again. 

“Fuck, yessssssss,” he hisses as the tingles underneath his skin seem to go on and on. He pants hard to catch his breath and finally looks down through hooded eyes to see a flushed Mustang looking up at him as he wipes his hand across the back of his mouth. Their eyes lock and Jean can’t help but reach out to rub his left thumb along Mustang’s jaw. It’s probably a stupid gesture, but somehow the touch seems to change something in Mustang. It’s a look he doesn’t recognize and for moment he’s about to apologize until suddenly he’s being kissed like he’s the only person left alive.

Jean grabs for him, trying to get his bearings, but it’s all he can do just to kiss him back. Mustang slides closer to him, still straddling his thighs, and Jean feels his fingers run through the longish hair at the back of his neck. He’s needed a haircut since he got back to Central and it feels strange to have someone playing with it, but when Mustang tugs at it slightly he realizes he doesn’t seem to mind. He slides his hands down Mustang’s sides and as he squirms in Jean’s lap it finally hits him that maybe he’s not the only one who needs a helping hand. He wouldn’t have expected it, but if he’s right…he can’t just leave him hanging, right?

Jean’s a little hesitant, not wanting to cross the wrong lines, but as Mustang continues to kiss him breathless and shift in his lap he takes the chance and slides a hand between them. The hard and fucking large evidence he finds takes him by surprise. His eyes widen at the low needy sound Mustang makes and when his hips grind forward Jean responds by rubbing his palm hard over the length of him. He may not have ever touched another guy before, but he knows these reactions like they were his own and he curls his fingers over the hard shaft and squeezes him tight through his pants, his hand slowly running up and down.

“Shit,” Mustang curses under his breath as he breaks the kiss and Jean’s suddenly face to face with smoky, dark eyes. They’re still cloudy, but obviously filled with lust and he can’t help but wonder who he sees. Jean reaches his other hand down to undo the button and zipper of his pants then starts to slide his hand inside, but Mustang catches him by the wrist. Jean bites his lip, an apology on his lip, but before he can speak the words Mustang leans forward and murmurs in a low, husky voice, “Use your left hand.”

It’s a strange request, but not one he has any intention of denying him. Jean switches tactics and thrusts his left hand between Mustang’s legs. The groan he’s rewarded with brings a smile to his lips and he wraps his hand tight around his thick length and pumps him just like he would himself. A look of sheer pleasure spreads over Mustang’s face and Jean grins even more when the usually unflappable Colonel throws his head back and moans. His hips thrust into Jean’s hand and he finds himself enjoying the sight of the Colonel coming undone. The fact it’s coming by his hand is unexpected, but not so bad either.

Jean twists his hand over him, stroking him hard and fast then squeezing him tight and running his hand over his cock slowly until Mustang lets out a low whine. Then he starts the process again, wringing another low cry from his former superior until those jet black eyes lock on him again. He doesn’t have to ask what that look means and he fists him hard and fast, his own breaths coming quicker as Mustang’s eyes dilate even more. Strong hands grip his shoulders and the tension radiating from Mustang’s body is tangible. Heated anticipation fills the small space between them until Mustang suddenly lunges forward and captures Jean lips in a bruising kiss. The low moan that accompanies the kiss causes his own body to heat as warmth finally spills over his hand. Mustang collapses forward and Jean instinctively wraps him tight in his arms.

It should feel weird, holding another man like this, but somehow it’s not. There are no preconceived notions or pretty words that need to be said. It’s easy and comfortable and for the first time he understands how soldiers could take comfort in each other. Still, part of him feels like he somehow pushed Mustang into this with his own needs and he doesn’t want to make things weird. Sure Mustang got off on it too, but is that what he really wanted? Was he just reacting like Jean was or— Jean frowns at the thought and tilts his head to speak soft and cautiously at Mustang’s ear. “I’m sorry, Chief. I’m sure that wasn’t, I mean, probably not what you, umm….”

Jean feels as much as hears the soft chuckle against his chest and the light kiss against his neck takes him by surprise as does the way Mustang seems to snuggle a bit closer instead of pulling away. “It’s fine, Jean. Don’t worry, I’ve always had a thing for blonds.”

Blonds? Jean’s forehead scrunches slightly as he attempts to find the real meaning in Mustang’s words. He’s always talked in riddles and codes and somehow this feels no different. Was he imagining he was someone else? Hawkeye’s blond and those two have always…. But then he remembers how Mustang dove between his legs, how fucking good he obviously was and how he was the one to bring this up in the first place. Somehow he doubts it was a woman Mustang was thinking of. Jean runs his hand lightly over Mustang’s back as another volatile blond comes to mind. Fullmetal and the Chief always were at each other’s throats….

And that’s when he decides he doesn’t want to think about this anymore.

He really doesn’t know who Mustang was seeing, but suddenly he doesn’t want to know. It may be stupid, considering until about an hour ago the very thought of being with another man was something he’d have considered completely out of the question, but he’d kinda like to think he was the only one in Mustang’s head. He tightens his arms around Mustang slightly and to his surprise Mustang stretches out between his legs and continues to lean against his chest. Jean can feel him along the length of his body and it feels good, really good. He slowly slides his fingers through Mustang’s damp hair and ponders his words once more. He said he liked blonds and he _is_ a blond. He smiles and lightly rubs the back of Mustang’s neck and finally responds.

“Speaking as a blond…that’s good to hear.” Mustang chuckles again and the sound warms Jean inside. He doesn’t really know what’s going on here, but it’s nice not to be alone anymore. It’s funny, just a short time ago he felt completely helpless and lost but now, in the short time since Mustang’s been here, he’s actually filled with hope again. He _can_ feel, Mustang proved that, and if he can feel he can learn to move again, just like Mustang can learn to see again. And with any luck, they won’t have to do those things alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit are always loved an appreciated! ;-)


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